


Five of Ray's scars and their stories'

by millygal



Series: Five Things - LoM [1]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: 5 Things, M/M, five things trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 13:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10697817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/millygal/pseuds/millygal
Summary: Ray's an accident prone sod sometimes.





	Five of Ray's scars and their stories'

I.

"Ahh..ahhhh"

"Don't you fuckin' dare!"

"Ahh...Ahhhhhh"

"Chris!"

"Ahhhhhh...ahhhhh"

"Skelton!"

"ATCHOO!!"

Ray's pretty sure, once the searing pain and ear splitting ringing's worn off, he's gonna take his gun and shove it where the sun doesn't shine.

How many men can boast that their partner's managed to sneeze and shoot them in the frigging foot!

II.

"Ray!"

Ray doesn't even think, it's part and parcel of being a copper, taking a hit for someone even if that someone makes your skin wanna roll right off your bones.

He hears Chris's anguished cry and then there's nothing, blackness.

Sam stands, shocked and speechless - for once, as Gene and Chris rush to Ray's side. 

Five whole seconds go by before Sam finally jumps into action.

Throwing himself at Ray's still form, he pushes the other's hands away before they can pull the knife out of Ray's shoulder blade. Cupping the handle gently, Sam hisses at Gene to get an ambulance and tries to offer some kind of comfort to Chris who's obviously having a mental melt down.

"Calm down, Chris"

"He..he took a blade for you, boss. He took a blade an' you two are always...why, why'd he do it, you can look after yaself!"

"Cheers Chris, thanks a lot"

"S'not, I didn't mean it..s'just, it's Ray...he can't..he can't.."

"I know"

Sitting between the sobbing DC and his silent partner, Sam thinks perhaps he's been a little too hasty to judge the pair of them.

Never again.

III.

Gene's been going hell for leather round every corner in Manchester and Ray's just about ready to deck his DCI, even if it means a week's suspension and half pay for a month.

"Guv, slow down!"

"Oh shu' up ya great Jessy"

Gritting his teeth and holding onto the door handle for dear life, Ray closes his eyes for a second then realises he'd rather see his approaching demise instead of just hitting his head on the dash and knowing nothing more.

As Gene hammers it into yet another bend, Ray feels the entire car tip sideways before rolling right over onto it's roof.

The last thing he hears before oblivion claims him is Gene Hunt - master of the understatement - shouting 'bugger' at the top of his voice.

IV.

"Fuck it!"

Chris jumps a foot in the air and almost falls right out of his chair before turning to Ray and flicking an eyebrow at him.

"Bloody soddin' friggin' stupid fuckin' paper cut"

V.

Regardless of the fact he's been away from Chris for no more than five minutes, Ray's already trying to force his alcohol infused brain into coming up with some suitable and vaguely believable excuses for about-facing and knocking on Chris's parent's front door.

Pining - at his age! It's completely absurd.

Maybe it's the amount of alcohol still sluicing round his body, might even be the hour - it's so late it's kicking on for early, or perhaps he's just in love and doesn't particularly wanna admit it because that'd mean admitting how far under his skin Chris's managed to get.

He'll be with him in less than five hours, they work together for Christ's sake, it's not like he's gotta go a week without seeing his partner's dippy smile or pathetically cute puppy eyes.

A man of Ray's years should know better.

And yet that doesn't seem to be helping the dull ache twisting his insides.

Accompanied by the clarity and resolve that comes with being saturated from the eyeballs down in enough hooch fumes to floor a sailor, Ray spins on the spot and heads back towards his lover's place.

Chris's front gate looms large in Ray's blurred vision and his inner sensible person - long abused and rarely heeded - fights to make him understand how much of a bad idea this really is. He's about to make a total fool of himself but hell, why change the habits of a lifetime?

Stumbling headfirst up the path, Ray just about manages to stay on his feet and hopes that Chris hasn't gone to bed yet. Ray knows his parents aren't home; the car's not in the driveway and their bedroom light's off, although at this time of the night it isn't unreasonable to assume they'd be asleep. Ray doesn't particularly care, even if they were in he'd probably still be about to do something monumentally stupid.

Standing stock still, Ray lifts his face to the wind, like a dog scenting the air, then throws himself at the back gate.

Chris's bedroom's at the back of the house, pissed or not, Ray can still remember that much, seen as he's spent a good few nights shimmying down the very rickety drain pipe running alongside his window.

Standing below Chris's window, Ray casts about for something to throw. Finding the biggest rock he can, despite knowing he's likely to put the window out with it, he straightens and hefts it upwards.

Going completely wide of the mark, Ray curses and starts scrabbling around for more bits of masonry to chuck.

When, after five attempts and still not hitting the house, he finally decides that that's not gonna work, Ray looks around for some other way of getting his partner's attention.

Spotting the shed behind him, a light goes on in Ray's head and he suddenly feels the urge to take up climbing.

Taking a running jump, Ray lifts both legs, hollers at the top of his voice and clings to the side of the scarily unsteady looking shed. Slipping painfully downwards until his arse is brushing against the floor, he grunts, lets go and lands heavily on his back.

Shaking his head, eyeing the shed with contempt, Ray stands and backs up a few paces before putting on a burst of speed that even Sam-the-whiny-one would be proud of and gets a few inches higher before falling back to earth with a thud.

After he's managed to field enough splinters to make his own damned shed, Ray gives up on trying to scale the side of it and finds himself a flower pot to stand on. Hurling his none too light frame onto the top of his 'in-law's' only sanctuary, Ray stands a little unsteadily and turns in the direction of Chris's bedroom.

Throwing his arms wide, Ray starts singing 'Isn't she lovely?' in the best strangled-cat voice he can muster. Replacing every 'she' with 'he' and doing a little dance at the start of each chorus, it takes him no time at all to rouse Chris from his beauty sleep.

"Wha' the fuck!"

"Isn't he lovelyyyy"

"R..Ray?"

"Isn't he wonderfulll"

"There a reason you're stood on my old fella's pottin' shed?"

"Isn't he precioussss"

"Very nice 'Mondo"

Chris watches Ray shimmy and shake to the off key sound of Stevie Wonder's 'Isn't she lovely' and can't help smiling at his big lug of a boyfriend. Only Ray, only on a night like tonight and only after about twelve pints.

Shaking his head, Chris shuts the window and rushes outside to try and talk him down.

The final strains of Ray's impromptu karaoke session die away and he laughs to himself then idly wonders exactly how he's supposed to get down off the bloody shed without breaking his neck.

Looking down, swaying slightly and feeling his stomach hit his shoes, Ray thinks perhaps it's not such a grand idea to try and climb off on his own. He's about to sit down and wait for Chris when he hears a car in the driveway and panics. 

Jumping, hooking his left foot behind his right, he feels himself falling forwards before he's had chance to try and grab hold of anything sturdy enough to take his weight.

The last thing he sees before he passes out is the concrete sides of Chris's Dad's coal bunker.

By the time Chris makes it outside, Ray's no where in sight and he's left wondering if he imagined the entire thing. The only clue that he's not gone completely bonkers is the soft sound of snoring coming from the front of his old man's shed.

Peering into the coal bunker, Chris's greeted with the sight of Ray curled at an awkward angle, thin line of blood trickling from his hairline, moustache twitching as he snuffles gently in his drunken and comatose state.

Chris contemplates trying to wake him for about ten seconds until he realises he'll have to try and sneak Ray past his parents who are probably stood in the front room wondering why their only son is stood outside in his pajama's, peering curiously into their coal hole.

Well, one thing's for sure, Ray's gonna have a stonker of a headache in the morning.


End file.
